A privileged few, or: Localism is moronic

There was light. And it was good. Then the entitled herberts turned up.

In the beginning, there was light. Through the millennia the light travelled, refracted around ancient wonders of space.

Nebulas. Black holes. Galaxies. Passing by like trees on the roadside. Energy. Mass and matter. And evolution.

Life. Conjured from the who-knows of history. Philosophers debate it. Scientists and creationists and say their piece.

But we’re all agreed it’s been a bloody long time.

Let’s call it eternity.

The moon has mooned and the sea shuffled. Night after night, day after day. Tides and swells have moved water around the globe.

Seas.

Oceans.

Rock carved.

Continents divided.

Utterly beyond our control.

An entire planet. More than our imaginations could enfold. And water is the biggest part of it. We’re no more likely to control the sea by halting the orbit of the moon than we are with storm walls.

Yet. For all the wonder of the universe, and that magical, fleeting connection to it through waves and tides — tides governed by a celestial body — there still exists a certain special mindset.

Localism

Localism: people who claim ownership of the sea.

I thank god that ego can stretch that far. It’s impressive. But it’s also bloody stupid.

Fist shaking, a bit of lip service. There’s a chance you might come across an angry oik with a penchant for tyre slashing (don’t worry, these stories are rare enough that they still make mainstream media) but in the vast majority of times, it’s just posturing.

If you’re surfing respectfully, within your ability, please try not to forget the absurdity of localism before you let it spook you.